Imperceptible
by Courvoisier
Summary: I had no idea, I had suspected yes; but my fear of pursuing this had pushed it out of my mind. His hints had been so subtle, nearly invisible - Yet here I was, having it all thrown at me. And of all things, at the time I needed it the least. M
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: Ah may I add this is my first collab with the one, and only fabulous Snickers3339! Enjoy!**_

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Another breakup - And here I was thinking, that this one could have lasted.

"Goodnight and goodbye is right, Jonas," I snarled bitterly at the faded memory of a photo.

The doorbell rang, and I groaned, tossing the picture to the side. I hoped my brother would get the door, so I could continue my moping.

There was a soft knock on my door, and I muttered an accommodation.

"Miley?"

I rolled my eyes. Just what I needed - A talk.

"Mitch," I stated, in a monotonous voice.

"I heard about.. It."

"Hm. Join the rest of the world, why don't you?"

"Miley - Look - You know- I never really liked him.. He- He wasn't-"

I tuned out the rest of his speech - Not wanting to hear how wrong I was, and how bad my judgement was. I felt my mind turn over, as I saw red before my eyes. I was angry - Angrier than I had ever been before.

"Why are you never happy for me?!" I snapped in his direction suddenly, cutting him off. He froze, looking surprised. I sat up, and stood up, so I was facing him head-on. "Why?!" I questioned once more.

Intaking a shaking breath in I crossed my arms tightly, while narrowing my eyes at my so-called best friend.

He looked at me calmly, belying the shock in his eyes at my frustrated outburst. I stepped toward him, fingers pushing on his chest harshly. He frowned, biting his lower lip as he took a step back.

I was angry - so, so angry.

"I- I don't-" My glare shut him up, and my lip curled into a snarl.

...But, as the anger bubbled inside me, and I wanted nothing more to hurt him at that moment, I couldn't help but let my heart soften. Pushing my hands on his chest, I felt the anger disspasitate, and I was left with an empty feeling. My hands curled into shaking fists as they rested on his chest and I felt him tense up. He relax when I didn't hit him. My eyes were burning with with the after-fury - Why, couldn't just once could he say, 'That's great, Miley!' or something to that effect?!

Everytime I got together with somebody, and break up, he always said, 'You could have done better."

EVERYTIME! It didn't matter who it was.

He was so, so.. infuriating! I tilted my head back slightly, allowing my blue eyes to glare into his. I hoped my eyes were cold. His soft, warm, brown eyes never changed, staring back into mine.

My heart started pouding furiously, at a thousand miles an hour.

I didn't know why, he had this effect on me everytime.

Everytime his hand would slip over mine accidentally, every time I would look at him and he would be looking right at me.

"Because... Miley, you could do so much better." Suddenly as the fire behind my eyes died down, I heard his voice, softly speaking, a hurt, broken edge to it. "I- I just wish you would be happy Miley- And all these things," he murmured, showing me a picture of Nick. "They aren't helping."

He gathered my hands up into his own, and a peculiar, and familiar tingle ran through me.

He had no right to sound hurt and broken.

I was the one under media fire.

I was the one being criticized.

I was the one.. who was suffering. A tear rolled down my cheek, as I vigorously wrenched my hands away to wipe my face, his hands stopped me. His thumb brushing over my cheek bone, slowly and carefully. "Shh, don't cry, Miles..." He murmured. His voice was clipped, and I looked up to see him crying as well. I was confused - I didn't understand all this - The emotions, the anger - the proximity.. And yet- I knew that.. I enjoyed it..

His hand was pleasurably stroking my cheek, and I enjoyed it so much - But I couldn't handle anymore emotions at the present.

"Miles," he murmured once more.

"I don't understand," I murmured back, not bothering to wipe away the tears.

He did that for me.

"You don't have to."

"I- Just- Don't understand, Mitch- I thought he was the guy," I mumbled, leaning into his shoulder, rubbing my nose against his neck.

"Miley- Look - I wish.. I wish so badly, that you could get over him.. But- I just.."

I was even more confused.

"What?" Mitchel was always to go-to guy - But he was always one to tell me to take my time to get over a guy.

"I'm sick.. And tired.." He breathed, looking at the ground. "Of seeing your heart get broken over and over..."

My breath stuck in my throat - My body tingled, from my head to my toes - And my heart suddenly yearned.. Yearned to hug him, and to make whatever unexplainable hurt he had.. Make it go away.

My eyes still were glued to the floor, studying the pattern of the hard wood underneath my feet.

Boring, but I couldn't meet his steady gaze. My eyes slowly drifted past him to the picture of Nick sitting on my dresser. I felt like my heart was breaking all over again, leaning into him for more support I burried my head into his chest.

I thought Nick was perfect. I thought he was the guy, I looked past his flaws; and honestly, he was perfect. I was almost certain things were going to work out. But then, things never do for me. My heart was throbbing in sorrow at the thought of his soft smile, his brown eyes would watch me.

I realized.. I had wasted my emotion, my 'I love you's on him.. Because.. When she said, 'I love you, Miley' I thought he meant it. Evidently, he didn't.

Mitchel seemed to realize my attention was elsewhere, and his fingers found my chin, tilting my head back to his. "Miley, look at me," He spoke calmly, showing no signs of breaking. I slowly, and nervously met his gaze. His chocolate, brown eyes were still soft, and forgiving. Anger was still burning inside me, but it seemed to subside every time his eyes met mine. He stepped closer to me, I felt like melting as his body pressed against mine lightly. "Tell me - Again, why you did this?"

I looked at him questioningly - I was confused - Did what?

My question was answered and I shivered slightly as his hand brushed up against my arm and ran his fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, he really didn't like how I dyed my hair black. I'm assuming that was a reason why he was here.

Taking a shuttering breath in, I tried to pick myself up so I could talk straight without bursting into tears.

"H-he said he liked my hair the best when it was light.. So.. I dyed it black. I want every trace of him gone," I whimpered, letting my dark tresses fall in front of my face. "I want every freakin' trace of him gone. I don't want him to like me anymore, I don't want to appeal to him anymore." My gaze faltered, as I spoke once more. "I don't want to be pretty...," I stuttered on, biting my lower lip my blue eyes danced away from his gaze back to the floor. Staring at his socks- he had a purple sock on one foot and a blue one on the other. I almost smiled - seeing my two favorite colors glare at me.

Typical Mitchel.

I was not going to cry, I had to keep telling myself this. But - really I wasn't convincing myself this time around. I felt the salty tears slowly fall down my cheeks. I felt his soft hand slip under my chin, lifting it up once more so he could look me in the eyes.

He wiped away my tears again, I shivered and bit my lower lip trying to stop a sob from escaping my body. I felt his strong arms embrace me, my heart started pounding wildly in my chest. I couldn't contain the rush of emotions flooding through me.

"It'll be okay, Miles," he whispered, somewhere above my left ear.

My heart exploded - Finally destroyed into tiny shreds - It wasn't going to be okay - And he of all people should have known that.

My hands clenched into a fist as I hit him in the chest as hard as I could, I felt him wince, but his arms never left the embrace he had me in. I burst out sobbing, burying my head into his chest, rubbing my hand gently over where I had hit him. He tried his hardest to sooth me, but I sobbed harder. My fingers grabbed the fabric on his shirt and gripped it tightly.

He stood there, and listened to me cry for a couple minutes, just holding me.

"Miley, you always are going to look pretty. No matter what color your hair is," He whispered, looking down at me.

That sentence shocked me.

"Wh-what!?"

"You're always gonna be pretty, no matter what. It's because you're beautiful on the inside."

I chuckled lightly - He knew how to make me blush and feel better. What a guy.

"Where'd that come from, Mitch?"

He frowned, looking slightly disappointed.

I cocked my head to one side, confused by his sudden change in demeanor.

He was suddenly across the room, his warm embrace gone - and he had his head in his hands as he paced around.

"Are you really that blind, Miley?!"

I gaped at him, not able to formulate anything. He continued, like I knew he would.

"Do you really not read anything - Not see anything?! Are you really that... Dense?!" He looked up, a frustrated, constricted look on his features.

"Wha-What are you talking about?" I rasped, feeling like I had been without water for many hours.

"MILEY! I've basically spilled all my emotions out to you - Magazine interviews - Red carpet interviews - My blogs - The videos I do you for your Miley World whatever - Has it ever occured to you; That I did all those for you?!"

My ability to breathe left me as my mind spun.

So this is what a stroke felt like.

_**--  
AN: Review, please!**_


	2. Chapter 2

I swear my heart was pounding at a million miles per hour right now. I felt like the walls were starting to close in on me. My mind was not functioning correctly. Okay - So I wasn't having a stroke. I felt like I was hallucinating, my head as spinning as my eyes widened and everything went out of focus.

Was I drugged? It was the first question that came to mind, perhaps an acid trip that I somehow received without knowing it. But then, I realized that realistically - That was very unlikely as no one who had drugs had come in contact with me or had ever been remotely close to me.

Unless Mitchel decided that he wanted to drug me. I pushed that thought out of my mind as it was improbable and quite frankly, stupid. But he did do something to me. I was now fretting over his words, replaying them in my head. I drowned in them, letting them surround me and embrace me like that drug.

I closed my eyes, trying to sort out everything that had just been boldly thrown at me. I slowly let myself fall into a sitting position against the wall. My arms wrapped around my knees, then pulled them close to my chest. Faintly, I heard the heart-wrenching sound of footsteps walking away, and painfully so.

My confusion bubbled up to m eyes - resulting in tears, gradually racking my body with sobs. My life suddenly turned into a grayscale; I could care less about the rest of the useless facts in my life.

Why was he leaving after throwing all this at me? He should've have known that I was fragile, and especially now, in times of break-ups and lost loves.

Closing my eyes, I buried my head into my knee, letting my scratch jeans rub at my now puffy eyes. Silence echoed around the room in celebration of my agony. I heard a door slam shut in what seemed like the far-off distance, and it killed me.

I was alone now, and I accepted it painfully. My body shook, but no sobs permitted themselves to escape this time.

I was perplexed, confused, frustrated. One might wonder how one can jump from emotion to emotion as fast as I can. Maybe it has something to do with the hole in my heart - figuratively and literally - or maybe it had something to do with the fact that I let life rush past me with blinding speeds, then try to follow the impossible.

Nonplussed, I tried processing the information. I had just started to take it, actually. Maybe I would have taken it in faster had I not been hit over the head multiple times as a child - But that's another story.

I was failing to link everything together. The thoughts, the sentences, the words - They just bumped against each other in my head, like irregular polygons that had no relation to one another. My peculiar sense of math led me to believe that if I had gotten up just a few seconds ago, I might have been able to stop him - And get this all sorted out.

I was alone now, and Mitchel wasn't going to help me. I think he made that absurdly clear.

I had no boyfriend, definitely no best guy friend, and I had no idea who on this forsaken Earth was a real friend anymore. The one person I trusted the most, was out the door, probably now glad to be out of my life, leaving a space for some other person to try and weasel in.

Now, being alone - something I lacked in my busy life - I found that the serenity was peaceful. Pushing negativity out of my mind, going into a positive zone, I could finally think.

_Think_

Think

Think

I sighed, and the sound satisfied me entirely. I could think.

Now, did he really? Did he really like me? Or even-- Love me?

No, no, this was Mitchel we're talking about. Mitchel Musso, my best friend, flirt extraordinaire, but I couldn't convince myself that I was hearing things because I failed at denial.

I hated blocking things out, and this wasn't going to be an exception just because I didn't want to confront my true feelings. I was going to take this with grace, and accept it like the mature teenager I've tried to be.

I played with the rational thoughts in my head, over and over again, until I got bored.

Who was I kidding? I was a go-to person, not a sit and think person.

A pair of mismatched socks suddenly appeared in front of me, the pair shuffling nervously.

"I shouldn't have left," he breathed. "I shouldn't have thrown all those things at you--"

"Shut up, Taters," I snapped, abruptly standing up and glaring at him.

He looked shocked, his eyes widening in a puppy-like way, then realizing that I had called him by my dear nickname for him, he broke into a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Smiley," he teased, knowing I despised being called that.

An awkward silence passed between us, words fell lost upon our tongues, and we could only stare at each other.

I had so much to say, starting with --

"I'm sorry!"

Both mouths moved at the same time, and we stared, eyes trying to figure out which mouth had spoken.

"Wait, why are you sorry?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have been so insensitive," he said, smiling at me sadly. "I just- You know how long I've wanted to say that to you?"

I flushed under his gaze, as it was quite intense.

"How long?" I asked, fearing that guilt would course through me once he responded.

He chuckled, and I held my breath.

"Remember... when we first met? And you- I remember, you.. You and Emily weren't friendly towards each other at all..."

My mouth curled. Did he need to remind me how much of a prick I had been? But then again, it wasn't my fault that I got along better with boys. Besides, Emily was beautiful - she still is - and I was a little brace-faced, veneer-wearing skinny thirteen year old.

Mitchel continued, his mouth twitching at the change of emotion - or lack thereof - on my face. "Well, remember how-- How well we got along? We liked doing the same things, we could talk about everything and anything." He laughed out loud, his eyes sparkling. "Heck, Miles, you were willing to talk about a pencil."

I shrugged, urging him to continue. My heart raced, and I tried to keep it under control, knowing it wasn't good for my health.

"I think since then," he said, looking away now. "I mean- Remember that episode that we filmed and it-"

"-_Never aired_," we both said, laughing. "I remember," I said, tapping my head. "We both hadn't even had a first kiss yet."

"Yeah well-" He shuffled his feet. "That's when," he said softly. "I guess I kinda wanted to be at the center of your universe with you- I was willing to do anything for you."

Oh, well. There came the guilt, along with a pang of sadness that I was too dense and caught up in my own world to notice this perfectly sweet, kind boy in front of me.

And of all the things I could have said, I went, "That long?"

"That long," he said, bobbing his head.

I tentatively reached forward and took his hand between both of mine. I could feel a tremble that went through his body. "Why didn't you say anything, you dummy?"

He let out a soft chuckle. "I was scared."

"Scared?" I teased. "What? Do you think I would have rejected you?"

He shrugged, a slightly hopeful light brightening his eyes.

I ran one of my thumbs carefully over the soft skin of his hand, while my other hand caressed his palm. I entwined our fingers together, holding his hand up idly. I avoided his eyes, choosing my words carefully, thinking ahead for once. "And... What if I had a crush on you? Did you ever think I thought _you_ were the cutest boy I had ever met?"

"You what?!"

"Silly boy. And then you let me go into the arms of another silly boy, and all this time has been wasted," I said, using a mock-reprimanding voice.

Things were making sense.

I think when things don't make sense, and you feel alone, it just means that something good will come out of it, and you'll appreciate things more - Seeing things in a new light.

"I'm sorry Mitchel," I said dully, dropping his hand. He let it fall against his side, still gaping at me, as if I were a freak-show.

"Wha--" He regained control of his mouth. "What- Why are _you_ sorry? What are you sorry for now?"

"I'm sorry that I never... I never really appreciated or noticed all the things you've done for me."

"You don't need to apologise," he mumbled, but I could tell he was happy.

"You know why I'm sorry?"

He shrugged, looking apprehensive,

And this was one of those snapshot moments of my life. I had taken that jump from impulsive teenager, to a decision-making young adult.

"I'm sorry because of your lack of honesty, I haven't been able to properly thank you."

I understood better now. I hadn't accepted anything at first because I had the one who was afraid. I was afraid of getting hurt, of getting torn apart, but most of all, I was afraid of falling in love again.

I was standing here- I wasn't Miley Cyrus, and he wasn't Mitchel Musso. We were just Miley and Mitchel, Smiley and Taters, a girl and a boy.

We were human, and I realized that without taking risks, how the hell were we supposed to understand mistakes or how the world worked? I wasn't sure about Mitchel, but I knew I had been too caught up in this Barbie Doll lifestyle. The airbrushed pictures, the fame, the popularity, the hate. Everything.

Maybe this wasn't so much the fact that I had been confused about what he had told me initially, throwing me into turmoil. Maybe it was just my own personal way

This was God, telling me that I had a chance to make myself me again. Hollywood wasn't going to change me. Mitchel and I - Hell yeah, we were going to _win_.

I'm a Southern Girl. Big things don't really matter to me. _(A/N: That was actually something she wrote. It's from Miles To Go.)  
_  
So, God, take me back to the time, where I was the small, brace-faced thirteen year old. Take me back to the time where I had met this one boy, and goodness, he was _cute_.

Now, kissing Mitchel, full on the lips, my hands clenched around a fistful of his shirt, this was what I was waiting for.

And to think this was what I had been missing out on all these years.

Either I had to become less dense, or he had to make his so-called 'signs' more obvious.

His hand touched my waist lightly, then pulled away. I smiled into the kiss, grabbing his hand and slapping it on my waist.

Oh Mitchel. Ever the gentleman.

_Mmm._

He might be a southern boy and I'm a southern girl, I never said I was gentle.

**AN: Aww, so sweet! I hope you guys enjoyed it- I loved having the pleasure to write with Snickes3339!3**


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